I've gotten more than a few kind emails of late pretty much asking... Did I fall off the face of the earth... Did I quit blogging... Did I die... What the heck?!
I didn't die literally but I think, figuratively, a little bit of me might be gone.
Late this summer I unexpectedly found myself pregnant. PREGNANT! This was not planned.
After I picked my jaw up off the floor and ran through the 1,001 reasons that this pregnancy could not be happening to me now, I realized it could work. And as the shock slowly began to wane, I felt a small seed of joy begin to take root. I wandered through the days nurturing my secret, and frantically clutching at the the initial glimmer of peace that comes with acceptance and the first gossamer wisps of excitement that come with the creation of new life. And every time the specter within me questioned the fledgling joy or whispered oh, so seductively that it would be better if this baby didn't happen. I tried to let the seeds of happiness and peace grow over that terrible voice.
And then I lost the baby.
And I was so terribly, hauntingly, heart-breakingly sad.
And so angry and disgusted with myself. How could I honestly mourn the loss of someone who I hadn't been completely sure I wanted? How could I be sorry to lose someone who I had secretly referred to as a mistake? How could I have the audacity to mourn this child when there was a small, dark part of me who was thankful that it was gone?
And it worked.
But my shiny, happy view of the world suddenly looked a bit dimmer, and had a noticeable and bitter undertone.
I didn't leave the blogosphere right away, but I didn't really want to be here either. I've always found such joy in blogging. It seemed wrong to be indulging myself. Making myself happy.
When a part of my heart had wished this baby away.